


To Forgive, Kindly

by kaneklutz



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Guilt, How To Forgive Yourself, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have a lot of thoughts, M/M, Martin Blackwood Deserves To Have His Emotions Validated, No beta we kayak like Tim, a fixed amount of apologies, about what it means to be a good person, and how we as humans interact with good and evil, before you can forgive yourself, is it ever okay?, is there a point in time, too many tags i'm so sorry, when is it okay for you to let go of the wrongs in your past?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaneklutz/pseuds/kaneklutz
Summary: Even if you are the unwillingly turned key that opened the door to the gates of hell, the part you played was still significant. How do you live with yourself, with that on your conscience?-A quiet conversation about forgiveness after the world ends.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Kudos: 27





	To Forgive, Kindly

The sound of distant thunder echoed, punctuated the constant drumming of rain upon the shabby tin roof. Howling wind tore into every crack and cranny; it was a guttural uproar, inescapable and ceaseless. The powerful rush of it against the windows and walls made Martin shiver, as he fought the useless urge to run and hide, cower under a table in an attempt to seek a more stable shelter. Even as safe as Jon told him he was, in the eye of the storm, he didn’t _feel_ safe. 

Sometimes, he heard voices. Young and old, high pitched and deep, and all of them cried out in voices that grated against his ears, left him wincing in pain. They called for his help, for mercy, for the release that death might bring. Screams and moans that sounded almost familiar, sounded as thought they were right besides his ear, though he knew that there was no one here but him and Jon. Not for miles was there another living soul close enough for him to hear their anguish. 

There was no one, but he heard them all the same. 

Martin sat by the fire with his eyes squeezed tight, and resisted the impulse to clamp his hands over his ears. 

The heat of the flames gave way to the cold. Not an absence of warmth influenced by any dwindling of fuel for the hearth, nor a typical fall-to-winter cold snap that could be assuaged by a blanket or a jumped or a good cup of tea. This was an intimate, bone-deep chill, one that clung and settled itself under the surface of his skin, in his flesh. Icy tendrils of the deepest freeze weighed down heavily upon Martin’s entire body, as he folded in on himself in a futile attempt to compact into nothing, to escape the endless cold. 

Cold and numb was what he’d known in the Lonely, what he’d felt under the tutelage of Peter Lukas. Cold, numb, not there and not real. All the things he’d experienced in his youth multiplied tenfold, exponentially increased until he was drowning in the all-consuming nothingness. 

The apocalypse’s chill was not the same feeling of emptiness, of absence, but the similarities brought fog curling around him nonetheless. Martin would never be an avatar of the Lonely if he could help it, but that aching sense of solidarity had left its mark on him. 

* * *

Martin peeked into the bedroom. He was relieved to see Jon, lying still atop the blankets with his eyes closed and arms loose at his side. The hours he’d spent sitting at the table, nursing a mug of tea and worrying alone, had quickly become all too overwhelming. It was easy to be by himself, but he knew solitude wasn’t any good for someone trying to recover from the Lonely.

He knew Jon would never leave him. Of course he knew. They loved each other. 

But it was a reassurance to see him still there, all the same. 

“Jon?” he called softly. The door swung open, and he walked inside, careful to step intentionally on the creaky floorboard. Once, some time soon after- after all this had started, he’d badly startled Jon by walking up to him without announcing himself. At the time, his footsteps had seemed enough of a warning, light taps that fell against the wooden floorboards loud enough to be easily heard. Now, of course, he knew better. 

Jon’s body was here, yes, safe in the shelter of their cottage, safe with him. But his mind, his senses, his _sight,_ all were a hundred miles away, tens of hundreds, inches away, countries away, everywhere at once in a way that was impossible to comprehend, no matter how Jon had tried to explain at Martin’s request. He couldn’t imagine allowing everything out there, all the terror he knew of and that which he did not, flow through his mind. Nor did he know if Jon had a choice in the matter. 

Martin knew that no matter what, Jon’s choices were affected by the entities, the fear gods, the power of the Beholding, whatever. He knew that Jon needed statements to live, and it wasn’t his fault, nor was he to blame for all of this. He believed that wholeheartedly, would’ve died before letting Jon self flagellate any more. But there was always that lingering sense of worry, of fear. The memories of Jon, lost to the lure of live statements, drove to madness by primitive needs as his hunger took over. 

Jon’s arms twitched, as if about to fly up to block off an attack, then stilled and relaxed once more into the mattress. Slowly, dark eyes opened, and the Archivist sat up in bed, brushing grey streaked hair out of his gaze. 

“Martin.” 

He settled onto the bed besides Jon, leaving a few inches between them. It was an invitation he left every time, a chance for Jon to close the space or leave it be. Despite Martin knowing and accepting his- Jon’s need for space, it still sent a little thrill through him when Jon willingly shuffled closer, pressing himself against Martin’s larger frame. For love, comfort, warmth, or just a scrap of evidence they were both still real, it didn’t matter why. They were together, and that was blessing enough. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, wrapping an arm around Jon’s frail body. He’d always been a stick of a man, knobby and bony, made of sharp edges and straight lines even when things had been on the right side of normal. Now, in this interwoven nightmare of hell and purgatory, suffering rendered eternal, Jon was almost skeletal. 

The silence lingered as Martin waited patiently for an answer. A steady rhythm of inhale, exhale, merged with the pattering of rain filled his head and held them together in a fragile, comforting embrace. At last, Jon spoke, his voice hushed and almost empty, void of any emotion. 

“I don’t know if I’m feeling much at all, really.” 

He twisted in Martin’s arms as they rearranged themselves, moving so they could look each other in the face. Their eyes met, and Martin searched through the darkness for a scrap of light or spark of life in Jon’s tired, glazed-over eyes. Somehow, it took Jon reaching out to swipe a tear away for Martin to notice that his own eyes were filling with tears. 

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison, stumbling over each other’s apologies. Martin chuckled despite himself, and Jon flashed a small, worn smile in return.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Jon said, frowning up at Martin. His cool hand was still pressed against Martin’s cheek, cupping it gently. “It isn’t as though there could ever be a better reason to be crying. You’re in the midst of an apocalypse, living with the monster who caused it, after all.” 

Martin blinked away the rest of his tears furiously, and fixated Jon with a shiny-eyed glare. “Don’t say that, don’t you dare. We’ve had this conversation before, multiple times. You know /full/ well that this isn’t your fault. It’s Elias-“

“Jonah.”

“It’s… _Jonah’s_ fault. Not yours, never yours, Jon. And if I don’t have anything to apologize for, neither do you. We’re trapped here together, and I am scared and miserable, yes, but that’s not because of you.” 

He choked back a sob, biting the inside of his cheek. His mouth filled with blood and saliva as he fought to stop his blubbering from clouding the fervour of his words, words he needed Jon to understand. It wasn’t his fault, damn it, it could never be his fault. 

Collecting himself, he continued. “I am terrified, Jon. But it’s not your fault, and I’m glad you’re here with me. I really, really wouldn’t rather have anybody else by my side, Jon. Please believe me when I say that you help me more than you could ever hurt me.”

Jon’s hair fell across his face as he turned away, refusing to meet Martin’s steady gaze. “I have hurt you, before. I’ve hurt you, and I care about you now, more than anything, but you can’t say I haven’t been horrible to you in the past. Both intentionally and thoughtlessly.” 

“Please, Jon. You were just a pompous arse who was… jealous of my fabulous skills in archival assistance,” Martin joked, lightly squeezing Jon to his chest. 

Jon’s reproachful gaze gave Martin an indication that his jokes weren’t helping matters. “Martin, I hurt you.” 

“It’s fine, really-“

Tugging away from Martin’s embrace, Jon sat up, eyes still pointedly fixed anywhere but on him. “It’s not _fine,_ Martin, stop saying everything’s fine when it shouldn’t be, when you know it isn’t!”

Martin opened his mouth, only for Jon to add bitingly, “and don’t apologize again, please.” 

The tension between them rippled, crashing waves of regret and guilt intermingling in a river of words that were too painful to say. 

He struggled to find the right words to say, pushed against the familiar instinct to placate and please, to put aside his own hurt in order to not make the guilty party feel, well, guilty. Jon had never accepted Martin’s habit of denying his own emotions, would never hesitate to call him out on his little white lies. 

“It’s not- it wasn’t good, what you said and how you treated me,” Martin murmured at last, grimacing slightly at the wrongness of accusing someone else of an offence. “It was rude, and horrible, but I know you don’t think any of it’s true anymore. I know you care about me, and for what it’s worth, I’ve forgiven you. Alright? Promise I have.” 

Jon sighed, but his tight expression softened as he crawled back into Martin’s embrace, pressed in as he was held tightly once more. “To be fair, you really weren’t the best assistant,” he replied, the words muffled as he spoke with his face buried in Martin’s chest. “And you didn’t know what you were doing at all.”

“Oh, come on, cut me some slack here. I did all of that without a degree in anything, with nothing but Google and WikiHow to get me through it,” Martin grumbled, the belligerence of his retort entirely insincere. 

They shared the brief moment of peace, of being able to heckle each other in the way only those with the closest of bonds could. It passed, as all moments do, but left Martin feeling warm and calm and just a little more grounded. 

“Just promise me, Jon,” Martin said, when quiet chuckles had faded away in the face of distant thunder. “Please, just try to forgive yourself a little. Even If you can’t for, you know, all of this-“ his free arm swept around to gesture at what lurked beyond the walls of their bedroom, “-try to forgive yourself for the past. I give you permission, Jon, I’ve forgiven you for it, so forgive yourself? For- for me?”

The last words were almost inaudible, and steeped in guilt, as though asking for Jon’s cycle of self damnation to cease was too much of a luxury for Martin to afford. 

Head tilting up, Jon’s creased forehead smoothed out. Martin hoped to god he could see the sadness that was surely splashed all across his face, the silent pleas for Jon to let go, to stop letting himself hurt, and in turn, hurting Martin. 

“I’ll try. For you,” Jon responded at last.

“Thank you,” Martin mumbled against Jon’s hair as he ran his fingers through the loose tangles and knots. “I love you, you know?”

Jon stretched up and placed a small, careful kiss on Martin’s forehead. “I know,” he replied. “I love you as well.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are endlessly appreciated! thank you for reading!


End file.
